


just one small part of forever

by kbs_was_here



Category: American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbs_was_here/pseuds/kbs_was_here
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after the successful re-opening of Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies, Queenie approaches Cordelia with a possibility that may allow the return of Misty Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just one small part of forever

They need bigger classrooms. Or more of them, anyway. Queenie’s been working on research to possibly enchant the ones they already have, to make them bigger on the inside, but that’s still in progress.

They’re two years running as an active academy and Miss Robichaux’s now has a waiting list, something Cordelia doesn’t really like, because she wants to be able to accommodate every single young witch who shows potential. But, she’s learning to say no, to tell them there’s always next year, and to point them toward the online curriculum that Zoe’s been curating for long distance learning in the meantime.

The influx of new students is constant, but finding faculty has proved to be somewhat more difficult. After the war, only a few experienced witches remained. The few contacts Queenie still had from her time spent with Marie Laveau yielded instructors in telekinesis and transmutation, but everyone spends their time covering other subjects, as needed.

Overall, though, the school is more successful than it’s ever been and the halls are full of footsteps, gossip, and giggling between classes. It’s everything Cordelia could have wanted the academy to be.

It keeps her busy, keeps her focused on what’s important. Being a good Supreme, to her, is being willing and capable to enhance the lives of her young charges, to prepare them for the world. Responsibility is a key tenant that’s necessary to instill, because power can so easily and effortlessly corrupt. Having a council that’s witnessed such corruption, first hand, is helpful. But it’s still a struggle when dealing with young women, day in and day out, who aren’t only learning the basics of their power and abilities, but they’re concurrently experiencing the pains of general adolescence, as well.

Which means emotions run high through the house and, as much as Cordelia strives to make herself accessible, there are times when she discretely ducks into the greenhouse for a moment or two of peace and quiet. It’s the one area of the house that hasn’t been officially converted into additional teaching space. Plants are taken into classrooms for botany lessons, leaving the greenhouse as a space still reserved for plant cultivation. And Cordelia’s own peace of mind. It’s one of the few luxuries she allows herself as Supreme, the right to claim a part of the house as her own, at least in the off hours.

It’s after dinner, so the girls who aren’t in their bedrooms are spread throughout the first floor under the watchful eye of the faculty. The rules are fairly lenient, as far as freetime goes. As long as everyone’s getting along and bringing their best effort to their lessons, Cordelia has no strict rules about how much time to spend studying. This space is about cultivating a sisterhood, not an army.

She wonders, though, how they’d fare if they ever had to go to battle, again.

These thoughts creep into her head more often that she’d like, especially when she’s alone. It’s hard not to feel the loss of the fallen when she’s surrounded by empty space. It’s why she spends time in the greenhouse, because the plants are living things and they somehow manage to make the void a little less expansive.

Cordelia sits at her workbench, looking down at her latest concoction. Tomorrow’s lesson is an introduction to resurgence and, while she’s now powerful enough to perform this act without having to blend, grind, and mash ingredients together, it’s important to teach the core basics. There’s a bucket of swamp mud under the far end of the bench, but Cordelia reaches for a jar on a shelf above her. This one was Misty’s, one she’d brought directly from her shack at the edge of the swamp. The mud inside has long ago dried into a crust, but it doesn’t matter. Cordelia doesn’t even open it, she just holds in in her hands.

Misty should be here, teaching these kids. They’d love her. Her bright spirit always lit up a room, even when Cordelia didn’t have her vision, she could see that. If Misty was here, she’d enchant and delight the students, bringing small animals back to life with a wide smile and a shrug. It was effortless, the way she could bring life and light to anything she touched.

But there’s no bringing anyone back from hell. It’s just not possible.

Or, it was believed that was the case until Queenie approaches her, later that week, in her office.

“What is it?” Cordelia asks, looking up at her through her glasses.

“You know how I’ve been doing that research on paradoxes and space shifting?”

“For the space issues we’ve been having, yes.” Cordelia nods.

“Well, I asked Anton, over at the occult bookstore, for everything he had on time, space, parallel universes, location bending… everything. In addition to a couple of weird ass, but kind of cool sci-fi novels, this was in that stack.” Queenie hefts a large volume onto the desk.

Cordelia turns the book so that the spine is facing her. It’s definitely not in English. “Latin.” Which she knows relatively well, but it still takes her a moment to translate. “Realm transitioning.” It’s a loose translation, but it’s enough.

“I know it’s all in crazy ancient text, but…” Queenie flips the pages open to a random spot in the book. “This is math. Not anything as basic as calculus or trig or anything, but it’s math. Probably closest to physics, and even then it’s advanced.”

“I’m assuming you’re not telling me this because you think Anton ripped you off.”

“No. I do my research before I bust in on some poor retail clerk and demand my money back.”

That makes Cordelia crack a small smile. “Okay. So what do you think this is?”

“Some really fucking crazy ass quantum physics. Particularly in the case of moving between dimensions.”

“Like parallel worlds?”

“Or alternate planes. Like, say… the ones we visited during the Seven Wonders.”

“And we already know how to perform Descensum, when necessary.”

“Yeah, for ourselves. But I think this,” Queenie pats the book. “Is about moving between multiple planes. Ones that don’t necessarily belong to the one who’s descending.”

“You think we can visit someone else’s personal hell.” It’s absurd. But already, Cordelia is thinking about what this means.

“Not just visit. I think it’s possible to bring them back.”

“That’s…” Cordelia stares at the pages in front of her. “Not possible.”

“Math doesn’t lie. I mean, I could be wrong about what all of this is, but I just wanted to bring it to you. If it is possible, it’s pretty powerful.”

“Thank you,” Cordelia nods and closes the book. “I appreciate it.”

Queenie studies Cordelia from across the desk. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I just need to finish approving this last round of lesson plans.”

“Cool.” Queenie’s up and on her way out, leaving Cordelia alone with the cracked and ancient tome.

There’s no way they would actually attempt this. It’s insane. No one can come back from hell. Not when there’s nothing left of them, no host, no body.

Still, Cordelia’s curiosity gets the better of her. The following weekend, in the quiet space of the greenhouse, she has Queenie and Zoe review the book, casting the occasional spell to get them over the more difficult translations. By the next week, it’s apparent that Queenie was right. The book suggests it’s possible to pull someone out of a netherrealm.

“We should try it,” Zoe suggests.

Queenie crosses her arms. “And what if they come back all inside out or homicidal? Don’t you watch movies?”

“We could start with Madison. She was already homicidal.”

“Please. We are not bringing back your mean as shit ex-girlfriend.”

“She wasn’t--”

“--uh huh. We all know you guys had some kind of freaky undead threeway going on.”

Zoe tosses a glance toward the door, but Kyle’s nowhere in earshot. “So? It wasn’t like that.”

Queenie rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

“Ladies.” Cordelia removes her glasses and rubs at her eyes. She doesn’t even need them, anymore, but she likes the idea of them. They remind her that she can see and she’s regularly grateful for that. “We’re not bringing anyone back. It would be self-serving.”

“Maybe we can bring back someone who benefits multiple people,” Queenie offers. “Like Martin Luther King.”

“You don’t think that would just cause chaos?” Zoe counters.

“I think if he was walking around, people would pay attention.”

“Maybe we should try this with someone who hasn’t been dead for half a century.” Zoe turns to Cordelia. “We could really use Misty.”

“You know, as much as I want to scare the shit out of a bunch of Republicans, I think Zoe’s right.”

Cordelia feels like she should resist. She should say no, because this is unmapped territory and it could be dangerous. Who knows what they might unleash and there’s an entire generation of young witches occupying the house. What if something terrible happens? What if it opens a portal to a hell dimension and they can’t close it?

What if it works?

“Okay,” Cordelia concedes. “But we do it as a lesson. I’m not hiding anything from the girls. They need to learn. Whether this is a huge mistake or great progress, they need to learn.”

To most of the students, this ritual doesn’t look like much. It’s a circle of candles, their council and Supreme in robes, a bit of mashed herbs burning at the center of the room. To Queenie and Zoe, it’s a call back to the Seven Wonders. It’s lightning in their bones, power surging through them. To Cordelia, it’s the hardwood floor against her knees, a circle of ash around her that, until tonight, sat in a small urn on the fireplace mantle.

And then, the tangible world around her falls away and she’s disoriented, but only momentarily. She can see a room ahead and as she steps through the door, she can tell that it’s a classroom. It’s hazy, but it’s apparent that young students around her are working on a biology project, frog dissection. There’s a piercing scream and, as Cordelia moves toward the scream, she makes out the form of someone adult sized among the middle school aged children. Actually, there are two. One must be the teacher. The other is…

“Misty,” Cordelia hears herself breathe. But it’s as if she can’t be heard. She steadies herself and empowers herself with a calm energy. “Misty,” she calls out, again.

This time, there’s a reaction. Misty turns in her direction. “Miss Cordelia?” It’s barely a whisper, but Cordelia hears it clearly.

The problem is that it seems everyone else in this realm can also see her and Cordelia doesn’t like the way they’re fixated on her. She has no choice but to lunge forward, wrap both arms around the woman in front of her, and will them both back to reality. She can almost feel the dozens of small hands grabbing at her, but when she opens her eyes back up, she only sees her own students surrounding her.

“You made it,” Zoe says, relieved.

“It’s been over an hour,” Queenie informs her. “We were starting to worry.”

Cordelia just sits on the floor and looks down at woman cradled in her arms. Later, she can chastise herself for putting herself in a position this dangerous. Misty’s here, in corporeal form. But her eyes are tightly shut and she’s practically fetal.

Zoe kneels down next to them. “Is she okay?”

“She’s alive,” is all Cordelia can confirm. She pulls Misty’s shawl more snugly around her shoulders and hopes this was the right thing.

When someone’s been to hell, anywhere is has to be better than where they just were. Right?

Misty begins to shake and Cordelia’s begins to assess her health, it’s possible she’s in shock. But as she brushes Misty’s wild hair aside to get a better look at her face, she realizes it’s because she’s crying and she clutches a handful of Cordelia’s skirt.

“It’s going to be okay. Everything’s okay,” Cordelia says, stroking her fingers through curly blonde hair. That seems to soothe Misty enough to reduce her cries to soft whimpering. “Zoe,” Cordelia calls, over one shoulder. When the young woman crouches down, she says, “Take her up to my room, for now.”

Zoe nods and waves Kyle over to help her. They’ve done this before, though it was Kyle who’d just been resurrected, at the time. For all his goofy, often over-eager puppy-like attributes, he has a delicate touch when it comes to leading Misty toward the stairs. Cordelia follows them to the base of the staircase, but she knows she must first address what’s happened to the group of students who were witness to the event, so she rubs a hand over Misty’s shoulders. “These two will take care of you for a little while.”

“She won’t want to be alone,” Kyle says. “Someone should stay up with her tonight.”

Cordelia nods. “We can work out a rotation, if we need to. I’ll be up shortly.”

The debriefing, for lack of a better word, feels like an eternity, because the girls have so many questions.

_“Was it scary?”_

_“Did you see anyone else you know?”_

_“Were there other hells that you could make out?”_

_“Does this mean algebra’s going to be a required course?”_

Eventually, Cordelia hands the technical questions over to Queenie, because she’s exhausted. But, more importantly, she wants to check on Misty’s condition. The door to Cordelia’s room is shut, but it’s not latched. When she pushes it open, she finds Zoe sitting on the bed with Misty’s head resting in her lap. Kyle’s on the other side of Misty, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“How is she?” asks Cordelia. She delicately sits at the foot of her own bed, as to not disturb Misty.

“She stopped crying a little while ago,” Zoe says, softly. “I think she’s asleep.”

“I’m awake,” comes the Southern drawl, muffled against Zoe’s leg. “Just don’t have much to say at the moment.”

“I’ll take things from here,” Cordelia decides. She pats Kyle on the leg and he’s quick to move off the bed, allowing her to take his place. When Zoe rises from her spot, Misty grips the pillow she was leaning against and pulls it tightly against her. Once Zoe and Kyle have gone, Cordelia takes a long look at the slender body curled next to her. “Are you hungry? I can have anything you need brought up from the kitchen.” There’s a shake of the head from Misty. “Do you just want to sleep? I have work I can do. I’ll just--” Cordelia leans, to reach for a book that sits on her nightstand, but Misty reaches back and grabs her hand, then pulls it around her body, forcing Cordelia to embrace her.

“Please stay.”

“Okay. I can do that.” Cordelia tucks her other arm under her head and lies there, holding Misty, until finally, she hears the soft rhythmic breathing of sleep. And even then, she doesn’t let go.

When early morning comes, her back is a little stiff, but she’s more concerned about the vacant space in the bed next to her. The panic is only momentary, however, because Misty is still in the room, sitting in front of the window, looking out at the rising sun.

“How long?” Misty asks.

Cordelia’s first instinct is to check the clock, but then she realizes what’s being asked. How long was I in hell? “About two years.”

“Felt like a lifetime.”

There’s really no direct follow up to that, so Cordelia opts for progress. “We still have your belongings packed up in a trunk. I’ll have Kyle bring it out of storage. Breakfast is in an hour.”

Misty finally looks away from the window. “Are you leaving?”

“I’m going to shower and then make sure all the girls are up.” Though, that’s not really a direct answer. “I’ll still be in the house.”

That seems to relax Misty, but now she’s fixated on Cordelia’s face. “Your eyes…” She raises her hand and waves it back and forth. “Can you see me?”

“Oh.” Cordelia brings a hand to her own face, realizing what Misty’s just noticed. “They healed when I became Supreme.”

“You’re the Supreme?” It’s the most excited Misty’s sounded since her return. “Oh, that’s so great. Congratulations.” She offers a small smile, but it’s not the same kind of soul warming expression that used to radiate out of her. “They look really nice.”

“Thank you.” Cordelia, again, is at a loss for what to say. “I’ll, um, send Kyle up with your things. Come down whenever you’re ready.”

Even if her upbeat personality seems to be lacking, Misty’s appetite appears to be intact. She’s on her third round of banana and peanut butter flapjacks and shows no sign of slowing down.

“You know, when Madison came back, she ate just about everything in the house,” Queenie comments.

“Yeah, but,” Zoe reaches for another piece of toast, “resurgence is different than what we did.”

“We? I didn’t see you or me dive into that hell dimension.”

“Ladies,” Cordelia’s tone is a warning. It doesn’t feel appropriate to discuss all of this in front of Misty.

“What was yours, by the way?” Queenie asks. There’s a shuffle under the table and it’s clear that Zoe’s kicked her. “Ow!”

“No, it’s okay. It’s over now. I can talk about it.” Misty eyes the butter knife that rests against her plate. “I was in middle school. I had to dissect a frog after I brought it back to life. Mr. Kringley kept making kill it, over and over.” She gently places her fork down, because she’s now finished eating. “It was awful,” she says, not looking up from her plate.

“Why don’t we take a walk?” Cordelia offers. She holds her hand out to Misty, who tentatively takes it, then slips her arm through Cordelia’s. Maybe getting her outside, surrounded by nature, will help kickstart whatever healing process needs to happen.

It’s just a casual stroll around the yard, but it suits Misty, just fine. She stops to peer at nearly every other plant they pass and when a butterfly appears near blooming rosebush, Misty grips Cordelia’s arm and keeps them stationary as it flutters around them.

Cordelia holds out her open hand and the insect is drawn to it, ultimately resting on her outstretched palm. Misty watches, eyes wide, but she makes no effort to reach for it, something that would have been second nature to her before they lost her during the Seven Wonders.

“Do you want to hold it?” Cordelia asks.

“No,” Misty’s quick to shake her head. “I don’t want to touch it.” She ducks behind Cordelia, avoiding any potential further offers.

The butterfly is hoisted back into the air and they resume their walk in silence. They pass by the entrance to the greenhouse and Cordelia’s certain that it will be an instant draw, but Misty walks them right past the door.

Maybe tomorrow.

With the exception of Misty avoiding her passion for living things, Cordelia thinks she’s otherwise adapting normally. Lunch and dinner both find Misty loading her plate multiple times, though not in a ravenous, unfillable manner. Just in a Misty Day, Swamp Witch Who Eats Anything manner.

After the evening meal, Cordelia even finds Misty engaged with Kyle in an arm wrestling match across the kitchen table. His jacket’s draped across the back of his chair and his sleeves are rolled up, suggesting that this has been going on for a while.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Misty taunts.

“No,” Kyle grunts, but he’s struggling.

“I’ve got five bucks on blondie, here,” Queenie informs Cordelia. “The hippie, not the houseboy.”

Cordelia shakes her head. “Not going to take that bet.” And she’s right not to, because moments later, Misty forces Kyle’s hand all the way down, then raises her arms in victory.

“Yes!” Queenie shouts. “Zoe!” she calls into the adjoining dining room. “You owe me,” she says, disappearing through the doorway to collect her winnings.

Cordelia watches Misty’s small personal celebration. She’s smiling, though it still doesn’t feel as vibrant as it could. But it’s good to see her having fun.

When she takes three steps closer, Cordelia can smell why.

“Have you been drinking?” she asks. Growing up around Fiona teaches anyone what upscale single malt scotch smells like. In this case, it’s Glenlivet, aged fifteen years in French oak.

“Little bit.” Misty slaps the table. “Come on, Kyle, double or nothin’.”

“Those last three kind of did me in,” he says, rubbing at his bicep.

“Guess that makes me the champion.” Misty taps an empty glass against the tabletop. “Which means you can at least get me another.”

Kyle glances at Cordelia, seeking confirmation about whether or not this is the right choice. “Get one for me, too,” she says.

He nods and then he’s off to the liquor cabinet.

“You want to arm wrestle me?” Misty asks.

Cordelia shakes her head and can’t help the small laugh that escapes her lips. “Absolutely not.”

Kyle places the drinks on the table, then collects his jacket when Cordelia dismisses him. Misty’s quick to grab her glass, but she doesn’t drink, right away. Instead, she watches the liquid swish back and forth. Cordelia, on the other hand, throws hers back, just the way her mother taught her. It burns, but in a way that spreads, dulling down to a warmth in her chest. She shuts her eyes as the sensation settles and when she opens them, Misty’s leaning on one elbow, peering at her.

“They’re both brown.”

“I’m sorry?”

“One was blue, before. Like an Australian shepherd.” Misty brings the glass to her lips and sips.

“Ah,” Cordelia says, realizing. “Well, these are my actual eyes. The others were… borrowed.”

“I think they look nice.”

“You said that this mornin'.”

“Did I?” Misty sets the glass back down. As Cordelia eyes it, Misty gestures with her fingers and telekinetically pushes it across the table toward her. “Go ahead. Had three already. Four. Three?” It wobbles a little toward the end and Cordelia grabs it before it slides off the edge.

This time it burns a little less, but now it’s her mind that dulls as she swallows. The need to think about things so much falls away to just sitting and enjoying a moment to herself, or at least shared with one other person who’s at least closest to her in age than any of the girls at the academy.

But then, Misty isn’t a student. “You should be on the council,” Cordelia blurts out. She’s not drunk, she’s just not analyzing everything she says, right now.

“You have Queenie and Zoe.”

“And I’d like to have you.”

“I don’t know,” Misty gazes thoughtfully at the clock on the wall behind Cordelia. “They’re more experienced that I am.”

“There was a point where we thought you were the Supreme,” counters Cordelia.

“Y’all thought that. I never really did.” Misty leans back in her chair. “No offense, Miss Cordelia, I just don’t know. And I’m really tired.”

“You can room with me again, tonight. We’re kind of short on space with all the new girls this term.”

“I don’t mind sharin'.”

“One thing, though.”

Misty’s eyebrows raise. “What’s that?”

“You stop calling me Miss Cordelia. It’s Cordelia or Delia. You’re not a student, anymore.” Given that Misty’s obviously a little drunk, Cordelia has no idea if this will be something that’s remembered tomorrow, but there’s no need for this kind of formality. Not with Misty, Zoe, or Queenie. Not after everything they’ve been through together.

Apparently, sharing applies to the bed, as well, because for the second night in a row, Cordelia finds herself lying next to Misty, a protective arm draped over her.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see that place,” Misty says, pulling the blanket to her chin.

“You’re safe, now. I promise.”

When Cordelia wakes up, she’s again met with the sight of the other woman at the window, watching the sunrise.

This repeats through the rest of the week.

During the day, Misty interacts with the others, sits in on classes, helps prepare meals. But at night, she’s restless and can’t seem to relax unless she’s held. It makes sense, given what she’s been through. But what’s bothersome is the part where Misty hasn’t touched a plant or an animal in the week she’s been back on the living earthly realm.

“Myrtle, what do I do?” Cordelia asks a small silver framed photo on the wall of her office. “How do I fix this?”

“Miss Cordelia?” It’s Kyle and he’s standing at her office door, holding the day’s mail.

“Yes, come in.”

He dutifully enters and deposits the stack of envelopes in the proper tray atop the desk. “I know you weren’t asking me but… when I was brought back… it was rough. And I know my case is different, but--” He stops himself, but Cordelia encourages him to continue.

“Your first hand experience in coming back from the dead is different, yes, but it’s not irrelevant. Go ahead.”

“Uh, well, it really helped when I was able to feel alive. Madison said the same thing. You know, after we… had sex.”

“You’re suggesting sex will help?” Cordelia blinks, unsure of whether or not this is an insane or strangely brilliant.

“I don’t mean it has to be the same… it was the connection. The reminder of something of who I was before. But on a very basic human, uh, level.”

“That’s actually quite helpful. Thank you, Kyle.”

He nods and exits the office, leaving Cordelia to consider just what kind of connection it might take to get Misty back to her old self, again.

A meeting with her council puts a simple plan in action. While Queenie and Zoe are busy preparing their part of this attempt, Cordelia has a strategy of her own.

Misty spends most of the drive staring out the window, watching the scenery pass by. She's not normally a very chatty person, despite her pre-descent easygoing demeanor, but even this is unusual for her. As they get further away from town and closer to the swamp, she glances at Cordelia.

"Is it because there's no room at the house?"

"What?" Most of the time, Cordelia has no problem keeping up with whatever Misty's saying, but this is the first thing she's said in over ten minutes.

"You're takin' me back to the swamp, right? Because there's no room for me at the house."

"No, Misty... I'm not leaving you out here.” They’ve reached the end of the short road that branches of the main route and they’ll have to walk from here. “We need more mud and moss for this week's lessons." It's all true, there's just also the part where Cordelia hopes a return to Misty's former home will bring her a little comfort.

Misty twists one of her many rings as she listens. “I don’t mean to be such a downer. It’s just that I have a hard time really believin’ this is… real.”

“Whatever it takes to prove it to you, I’ll make it happen.” Cordelia reaches over and grasps Misty’s hand.

There’s a return squeeze and even a hint of a genuine Misty Day smile on her lips. “I guess we could start by gettin' out of the car.”

Cordelia doesn’t mean to watch Misty get out of the car, but it’s impossible not to. The change is subtle, but it’s there in the sunlight glinting off the mess of blonde curls that bounce with each step Misty takes down the path toward her shack and Cordelia feels confident in her decision to bring this swamp witch back to her natural habitat.

“Should get some cordgrass while we’re here, too,” Misty calls back to her. “And some sassafras. Oh, and--” But then she stops short so immediately that Cordelia walks into her.

“What’s wrong?”

“My garden!” Misty’s near tears as she falls to her knees in the middle of the overgrown, weed-choked mess of foliage. Without someone to tend to the individual needs of each plant, the two years without care have left several plants withered and while a few of the more hearty native species wildly flourished in their place.

Without any concern for her dress, Cordelia joins Misty on the muddy ground. “Hey, no… look at me. Misty. Look at me.” She gently tips Misty’s chin up to meet her eyes. “It just needs a little care.”

“But I--” Misty shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“Bullshit, you can’t.” Cordelia has her by both hands, now. “Your gift is life. It always has been.”

“What if I can’t do it? What if I touch something and it dies?”

“You’re touching me, right now, and I’m fine.”

“But you’re the Supreme.”

“Misty.”

“Yes, Miss-- er, Delia?”

“Just try.”

Misty draws in a deep breath, eyes closed. She pulls her hand free from one of Cordelia’s but holds tight with the other. There’s a raised bed of pathetic looking azaleas within reach and she extends a tentative hand out to them. Almost immediately, they flush with color and then they slowly begin to expand.

“Are you sure it’s not somethin' you’re doing?” Misty asks, uncertain.

“It’ll all you.” To prove her point, Cordelia releases the hand that was locked with Misty’s and holds both of her own up.

Misty turns back to the plant and cups her fingers around a single bloom. It flourishes. “I didn’t kill it,” she says, happily sighing with relief. Without warning, she throws her arms around Cordelia in a clingy hug. “Thank you.”

“I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”

“Guess I just needed a little swamp magic. It’s what brought me back from the dead the first time.” She turns her attention to the next row of plants and Cordelia watches as Misty makes quick work of restoring everything.

Things are interrupted, however, when a croaking sound erupts from a patch of alligatorweed. Misty freezes.

“It’s okay,” says Cordelia, “I hear it, too.”

A bullfrog leaps out from the plants and drops into the mud near Misty’s feet. Carefully, she leans down and picks it up. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “It’ll never, ever happen again.” She releases him back into the green overgrowth and watches him hop away. “He’ll be back.”

As the sun lowers in the sky, Cordelia insists that it’s time to head back into town. “But I think we should make this an officially sanctioned academy garden. If… that’s something you’d like. You’ve cultivated such a beautiful natural environment that would be great for teaching others.”

“Like an outdoor classroom?”

“Exactly like that. We just need an instructor.”

“You want me to teach the other girls what I know?”

“I can’t think of anyone better suited.”

Misty assesses her newly rehabilitated garden, hands on her hip. “I think I’d like that,” she says. Her smile is radiant.

Cordelia’s practically bewitched by it. “Perfect.”

“I just want to see if something’s still in the shack,” Misty says.

Cordelia follows her to the small wooden building and when the door opens, there’s a hiss that about causes her to jump out of her skin. She grabs Misty and tries to pull her back, but Misty isn’t fazed. She points to the door, like a parent sending a naughty child to their room.

“Buckingham! Get out!”

A large alligator clumsily waddles past them. For all the power Cordelia has flowing through her veins, she’s had the shit scared out of her in this moment.

“He’s harmless, at least to us,” Misty explains. She points toward a few broken boards in the wall of the far corner. “Guess that’s how he got in. Big oaf.”

“You… have a pet alligator?” Really, it’s not a surprise, if Cordelia thinks about it.

“Not a pet, just a friend.” Misty pulls a vintage Stevie Nicks poster off the wall and rolls it up. “We’ve had an understandin' ever since someone tried to skin him.”

“You really are something else, Misty Day.”

“You keep callin’ my by my whole name, like that, I’ll start feelin’ like I have to call you Miss Cordelia.” She taps the end of her rolled up poster against Cordelia’s chest. “And, if you keep complimentin’ me, I’m gonna get a big head.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

They’re standing, face to face, a couple of feet between them, in the center of this shack. As daylight fades, the sounds of evening in the swamp begin to buzz around them. It’s peaceful out here, Cordelia can see the appeal.

“Did you get everything you need?”

“Think so.”

“We should head back.”

Misty nods and bounds for the door, but not before planting a kiss on Cordelia’s cheek who, in turn, feels it all the way to her core.

When they return to the house, Queenie and Zoe nearly trample them the second they walk in the door and insist that they all take a trip to the greenhouse. Inside the far end of the space, mounted on the wall, is an iPod dock with a brand new iPod in it.

“So this thing,” Queenie explains, “is packed with every single Fleetwood Mac and Stevie Nicks album, including studio and live performances.”

Zoe selects a random song and turns up the volume. “It’s not a stack of eight tracks, but we wanted to restore your music library.”

“Every song is in there?” Misty asks. The girls nod and Misty flings herself at the both of them in a group hug. “You have to come down here and twirl with me, regularly.”

“I don’t think I twirl,” says Queenie.

“You’ll learn.” Misty unrolls the poster she reclaimed from the swamp shack. “Now help me hang this.”

That night, after all the mud is washed away and Cordelia’s lying in bed in a clean nightgown, she replays the moments of the day through her mind: The garden, the bullfrog, the shack. All of this has made it clear that Misty’s happiness is important to her. But that’s her duty as Supreme, to ensure that her witches are in good spirits and good health.

She knows there’s more to it than that, but she isn’t sure if it’s ethical to be in love with someone in her own coven.

At some point, she drifts off to sleep and when she wakes, she’s met with the familiar vision of Misty, sitting in the chair by the window, her bare feet up on the windowsill as she watches the sunrise. The movement of Cordelia sitting up catches her attention and she’s over to the bed in a half dozen light steps.

“Good morning.” She says as she drops onto the empty space on the mattress.

“Morning,” Cordelia’s voice scratches as she speaks. “I guess I missed you coming to bed.”

“Oh, I haven’t been to bed, yet. Zoe and I were workin' on some new herbology recipes. And then Fleetwood Mac’s _Live in Boston_ album came on and we listened to the whole thing. Twice.”

“Glad you had a good time.” Cordelia means it, though she can’t deny that she missed having Misty next to her in the night.

“I did.” And then Misty’s crawling under the covers. “You think I have time for a nap before breakfast?”

“It’s barely sun-up. And it’s Saturday.”

“Good, then you can doze in with me.”

“I…” Cordelia can think of a dozen very real reasons why she should get up now. But there’s a draw to Misty and she hasn’t figured out how to resist it, yet. Not that she’s made any effort to look. “I suppose it’s still fairly early. The rest of the house will still be asleep for a couple hours.”

She lies back down and Misty rests her head on Cordelia’s shoulder. “Saturdays are for sleepin’ in,” she says, making herself quite comfortable, snuggled up to Cordelia.

“Can’t argue with that.” Her plan is to wait until the soft rise and fall of sleep, then she’ll get up and begin her day.

But the pull of a lazy Saturday morning is too strong and Cordelia finds herself opening her eyes over an hour later. Misty’s now sprawled across her, head on Cordelia’s chest, arm on Cordelia’s stomach. In the time they’ve previous shared this bed, they’ve managed to keep to themselves, for the most part. This position means Cordelia’s met with the smell of Misty’s hair, which is some kind of homemade concoction with notes of lavender and peppermint in it.

She tries to move without waking Misty, but every time she shifts, it’s like Misty just wraps more tightly around her.

“Misty,” Cordelia whispers. She nudges the body atop her own.

“Hmm?” Misty lifts her head and shifts onto her own pillow.

“Nothing, go back to sleep,” Cordelia says. She finds herself brushing wild strands of blonde hair away from Misty’s face before she finally pulls herself out of bed.

The morning gives her some time alone in the greenhouse. She likes the quiet, but it feels strangely lonely. It didn’t used to.

“Am I interrupting anything?” sounds Misty’s voice from the doorway, her form is silhouetted by the late morning sun.

“No, not at all. I’m just prepping some core ingredients for Monday’s exotic herb lesson.”

Misty strolls right up to Cordelia’s workbench and leans on the edge of it. “It’s the weekend. Don’t you ever rest?”

“I slept in this morning, didn’t I?”

“Barely.”

Cordelia feels Misty watching her. It’s not invasive, it’s curious. “You want to help?”

“Sure. What are we doin’?”

Sleeping in the same bed every night. Sharing moments together in the swamp. “Just putting these in those.” She indicates a large bowl of dried herbs and a rack of small glass vessels.

Misty pinches a bit of the plant matter between her fingers. “What is this stuff?”

“Suma root. It’s Brazilian.”

“What’s it for?”

“Strength and vitality.”

“Cool.”

As they begin to work, Misty waves a hand toward her new music station and the Rumours album begins to play. Everyone once in a while, their fingers brush against each other in the bowl and after about the third or fourth time it happens, it crosses Cordelia’s mind that this herb is also used to increase libido in women. It would have to be ingested for that to happen, but with two witches handling the stuff, it wouldn’t be unheard of for at least a mild transference of properties to occur. She chooses not to say anything. It’s silly even to entertain the thought.

With two of them doing the job, they’re done before the album’s finished. Cordelia places the full trays onto the shelf above the workbench, but as she reaches, one of the vials topples over and threatens to take more with it. Misty quickly catches the fallen tube and forces the others back into place. Cordelia straightens out the tray and slides it so it’s secure on the shelf. It all happens in a matter of seconds and when it’s over, Misty’s still pressed up against her right side. If Cordelia turns her head, they’ll be breathing the same air.

“Good catch,” she says, hoping it’ll cut through the tension.

“We do make a great team,” Misty replies.

There’s a pause and finally Cordelia wills herself to turn, just a little. It’s enough.

Misty’s lips catch Cordelia’s and the kiss is tender, but eager. When it breaks, neither woman moves, right away, and when they do, it’s only so Cordelia can turn to face Misty, all the way. This time, it’s Cordelia who moves in, kissing with a tenacity even she wasn’t expecting. In moments, she has Misty pressed up against the workbench, hands in her unruly hair, bodies flush together.

Cordelia feels a knee nudging her own apart and she complies because this is incredible and absolutely wanted, but then she’s back to worrying that this is induced by the herbs. “Hold on,” she breathes, between kisses.

“What?” Misty’s eyes are wide and searching with concern.

“The suma root. It… might be effecting us.”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with that.”

“You’re sure?”

Misty’s reply is to kiss her, her tongue sweeping past open lips and against Cordelia’s. There’s a whimper as Cordelia relaxes back into Misty’s embrace, only to be walked backward until she bumps against the large table in the center of the greenhouse.

“I’m sure,” Misty finally says, pulling back, fingers delicately tracing Cordelia’s cheekbone, just below her right eye. “I was startin’ to wonder if you’d ever see me.”

“In what way?”

“This way. I mean, these last couple of weeks, I was a mess and you were workin’ so hard to bring me back around. But before that, before I was… gone… I always felt like we were right on the edge of somethin’ but…”

“I think I realized that when it was too late.”

“It’s not too late now.” Misty’s fingers lock with Cordelia’s. “I can’t really think of a better way to start somethin’ than makin’ out to Fleetwood Mac.”

“You hardly do anything that isn’t to Fleetwood Mac.”

Misty leans in with a coy smile. “There’s not much worth doin’ if it’s not to good music.”

Her lips are on Cordelia’s neck, trailing kiss after kiss down to her collarbone. That knee is back between Cordelia’s and, this time, there’s no concern, no worry. This is something they both want and if those damn herbs are having any play, it’s just to heighten whatever’s happening. When Misty’s thigh presses against Cordelia, she grabs Misty by the back of the neck and pulls her back in for a desperate kiss.

There’s a tug at the hem of Cordelia’s skirt, then the sensation of Misty’s fingers drifting upward against her thigh. It’s been years since Cordelia’s been intimate with another person and the groan that resonates in her throat is completely involuntary. She’s almost clawing at the front of Misty’s dress, trying to get access to skin, but Misty shakes her head.

“Not yet. I’ve been waitin’ a long time for this.”

“For wh--” Misty’s leg shifts aside and there’s the pressure of fingertips pressing through the cotton of Cordelia’s panties. It’s another groan and it’s possible that the greenhouse isn’t the most appropriate place for this, but fuck that, this is her private space. Their private space.

The undergarment is pushed aside and it’s direct contact with Misty as she maneuvers in small circles, her eyes watching Cordelia between kisses. There’s a tentative dip of two fingers and all it takes is the smallest nod from Cordelia for Misty to get the hint. They’re moving together, Cordelia already hazy from the feeling of Misty inside her and she grips the taller woman’s shoulders to keep her balance.

“We were wond-- Oh, shit.” Queenie, who’s just entered the greenhouse, quickly turns right back around. “I’ll come back later.” As she walks back out the doorway, she shouts, “Hey, Zoe! You owe me another five bucks!”

Misty’s shaking with laughter and, as much as Cordelia feels she should be mortified, the good humor is contagious and she finds herself joining in.

“I guess we should finish this upstairs,” says Cordelia, straightening out her skirt. She clears her throat, trying to shake the adrenaline of getting caught doing something she shouldn’t be, like she’s sixteen years old.

“I kind of like the fast and dangerous life of the greenhouse, myself.” But Misty moves right alongside Cordelia as they head outside and into the house.

They take the back staircase, to avoid as many of the students as possible, but they still manage to encounter a couple who, thankfully, don’t really seem interested in chatting up either of them. Once they’re in the bedroom with the door locked, Cordelia can’t help but eye Misty with a certain kind of hunger, which is only intensified when Misty’s dress hits the hardwood floor.

Cordelia sheds her own clothing, leaving the blouse and skirt in a heap next to the dress, then meets Misty on the bed, the one they’ve been platonically sharing for weeks. She’s too busy thinking about where to start and Misty regains the upper hand by pinning Cordelia down and kissing her. Within moments, she has Cordelia’s underwear off and discarded.

“Now where were we?” Misty asks, fingers dancing over the bare skin of Cordelia’s stomach. She cups the bra covered breasts in her hands.

“That’s actually not where you were.”

“You’re right, it’s not.”

Misty drops a few kisses as she moves downward, along the span of exposed skin, and then she settles between Cordelia’s legs. Where her fingers had been before, out in the greenhouse, her mouth is now warm and wet against Cordelia, drawing out groans and whimpers with each stroke of her tongue.

When Cordelia comes, Misty keeps her close, climbs back up to kiss her an uncountable amount of times, and doesn’t seem to mind whatever ridiculously sated look that’s taken up residence on Cordelia’s face. It’s no match for the wide, vibrant grin that’s plastered on Misty’s, though.

“You look pretty sure of yourself,” Cordelia says, once she’s caught her breath.

“Well, I did just get the Supreme off, so…”

Cordelia presses her fingers to Misty’s lips. “Stop it with that.”

“Okay, I just had sex with a supremely gorgeous woman.”

“That sounds pretty appealing. I think I might try it.” Cordelia twists and rolls them over, so she’s on top.

Misty’s body is lean and muscular, warm and inviting, and Cordelia has no idea how she’ll ever be able to pull herself away. Maybe she doesn’t have to. She’s in charge. People have to do what she says. If she wants to run this school from her bed, she damn well can and will. Everything about this woman in front of her is pure radiance and all Cordelia wants is to do everything in her power to keep that beautiful bright light burning. They twist and tangle together, kissing, groping, tugging at each other. Cordelia discover’s a ticklish spot just above Misty’s left hip, which leads to giggling, some teasing, and a quick bout of begging to stop tickling.

Cordelia’s interest moves a little lower, where she finds that the sound Misty makes when she touches her, when she’s inside of her, is something she’s never going to forget. Even if she somehow ends up immortal and lives forever, that sound, that husky groan will always be embedded in her memory. With every push toward climax, it’s like Misty’s grabbing for everything in reach, the sheets, the pillow, the nightstand. And when she comes, it’s loud and lyrical, just like everything else in her life.

It’s warm in the upstairs bedroom and, lying there together, Cordelia has no urge to get up for any reason, so she gestures at the window, opening it enough to draw in a bit of breeze.

“Damn,” is Misty’s first blissful utterance, head tucked against Cordelia’s chest.

“Damn is right.”

Cordelia closes her eyes for a moment, just to relax, but she drifts into a light sleep. When she wakes, Misty’s at the window, a shawl wrapped around her, with nothing underneath and it’s one of the sexiest sights Cordelia’s ever witnessed.

“Come back here.”

“A few hours ago, it was me tryin’ to keep you in bed,” Misty teases as she shuffles back toward Cordelia.

“It certainly seems you have an effect on me.” Cordelia pulls Misty back under the covers and they don’t make an effort to leave the room until the evening mealtime.

It’s really no shock to anyone that this union has happened. Aside from the apparent bet between Queenie and Zoe, Cordelia finds new meaning in an old letter from Myrtle about, “finding true happiness in the arrival of the day.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Cordelia mutters to her aunt’s photo. She can imagine the reply, Because you were somewhat preoccupied with a war, dear.

Any concerns about the ethical implications of a Supreme fraternizing with a member of her coven are unfounded. Some light research quickly turns up several accounts of it not only occurring, but being celebrated.

Later that spring, in the now flourishing academy garden, there’s a ceremony, a union of souls that occurs. While Cordelia takes care not to abuse her position of power, it only makes sense to make contact with Stevie to officiate.

“It is with great honor that I declare this union of Misty Day and Cordelia Foxx to be one of true love and light. May they be a shining example of what any of us can aspire to be, both as individuals and to each other.” Steve then waves to her band. “Now, who’s ready to rock and roll?”

“This is the happiest day of my life,” Misty sighs, head resting against Cordelia’s as they dance together.

“I have to be honest, it’s not mine,” Cordelia says.

Worry crosses Misty’s face. “It’s not?”

“No,” Cordelia rolls a blonde curl between her fingers. “The happiest day of my life was when you came back to me.”

Misty’s smile is back, full force, and Cordelia vows to never, ever let it fade.

Life together is a bit of an adjustment, with definite compromise. Sharing space with Misty means the bare white walls of the bedroom have been progressively covered with bits of color, mostly from the brightly painted pots that contain the herbs that now reside on shelves in the room: Basil for passion, lavender for peace of mind, rosemary for love and lust, and the old standby of sage for protection.

Plants aren’t the only thing Cordelia’s seen an abundance of in the house. Misty, and this is no surprise, wants to rescue and rehabilitate any animal in need she happens across. For the most part, they end up as teaching tools in her Resurgence class and then are released to the yard, but sometimes, there are creatures she can’t bare to send back out into the wild.

“It’s not the wild, honey, it’s the yard.”

“Delia, would you just look, first?”

Misty’s come home from what was supposed to be a routine trip to the market to place their delivery order for the kitchen with a box in hand and a story about a little boy who was trying to find a home for several kittens.

“Fine, okay. Let me see it.” Cordelia doesn’t want to look, because she knows if she sees the kitten, she’ll become attached to it.

Misty beams as she sets the box on Cordelia’s desk. She opens it and removes a white kitten with some stray gray markings on its body. “This is Bella Donna.” Cordelia’s about to remark that this is, in fact, a very cute animal and she supposes she can allow it to stay. But then Misty goes back into the box. “And this is Rumours.” A gray tabby. “And, of course, Rhiannon.” All black. “And, finally, Gold Dust Woman.” A patchy black and orange calico.

“Misty, sweetie, that’s four cats.”

“But they’re so sweet.” Misty holds one up to Cordelia. “Look at this face.”

“I see the face.” There’s really no resisting.

“Does that mean we get to keep all of ‘em?”

“Yes,” Cordelia concedes. “But that’s the limit for the house.” She drops into her desk chair and Misty sits on her lap. They both survey the span of the desktop that’s now populated with mewing kittens.

Cordelia pulls Misty in for a kiss. “I love you and that you love them.”

“I love you, too.” Misty nuzzle Cordelia’s neck, sighing happily. “And you’re going to love them.”

“It’s kind of hard, not to.” Cordelia holds her hand out to Gold Dust Woman, who’s nosing at the edge of a file folder, sniffing with curiosity.

“I know, right?”

Two years ago, when the academy re-opened its doors, Cordelia felt she was happy with the way things had progressed. The coven was safe and steadily becoming more successful. But that feeling pales in comparison to her life now.

True love is, as Misty would say, pretty damn awesome.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Think About It" by Stevie Nicks


End file.
